


Granting Wishes

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Dean has to remind himself once again that it’s not Sam standing in front of him. Not really. No matter how much it looks like his brother, or how much it sounds like his brother- none of this is real. Not a damn thing. Not his mom, not Jessica, not the picture-perfect girlfriend trying to convince him to start a family, and not Sam.The mirage is starting to shimmer at its edges, and Dean can’t let himself get lost in it again. Not if he wants to escape with his life.





	Granting Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [spnspringfling](spnspringfling.livejournal.com) over on LJ. My prompts were Sam/Dean and "What Is and What Should Never Be". Original post is [right here](https://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/195684.html)!

“What do you want, Dean? What’s going to make you happy here?”  
  
Dean has to remind himself once again that it’s not Sam standing in front of him. Not really. No matter how much it looks like his brother, or how much it sounds like his brother- none of this is real. Not a damn thing. Not his mom, not Jessica, not the picture-perfect girlfriend trying to convince him to start a family, and not Sam.  
  
The mirage is starting to shimmer at its edges, and Dean can’t let himself get lost in it again. Not if he wants to escape with his life.  
  
“Nothing,” he says, because though he’s got the knife in his hand, he can’t stop shaking. He knows how to end this, the only chance he’s really got of waking up, but it’s terrifying. Does he really want to take the risk of dying over staying in this dream-world? “It’s not real. None of this is. None of  _you_  are.”  
  
Sam sighs, looking down for a moment, and… god. It’s hard not to see his little brother there, no matter all the minute differences. Past the sport jacket, the pretty girlfriend, the distance between them, he’s still Sam. Not the one Dean knows, but a Sam. “Don’t be like that. You could be happy here. You  _were_  happy here, until you went digging.”  
  
Quietly, Dean thinks that it isn’t entirely true. He was happy here until he realized that Sam was no longer his best friend. Barely even his brother in anything but blood. “Yeah, well, the jig’s up. And I’m not sticking around so that thing can suck me dry out there.”  
  
He takes a deep breath and lifts the knife again. It’ll be hard to do this, especially with Sam looking at him like that- with Mom, too, in the corner of his eye, though she’s gone quiet since Sam stepped forward- but it’s his only way out of here. If he’s going to die either way, then he’d rather do it on his own terms and to cut out the part where a monster uses him as a glorified juice box.  
  
Just one quick movement. It’ll be over in a heartbeat.  
  
“Dean,  _wait_.”  
  
It’s Sam again, but it feels different, this time. Maybe it’s the way that the rest of the warehouse seems to have faded a little bit, gone blurry at the edges so Dean can’t make out any of its details. That’s disconcerting, but he can’t focus on it when his brother’s suddenly closer to him, close enough to reach out and touch.  
  
Dean’s hands are still shaking.  
  
“There’s something else you want, right?” And god; Sam sounds so much younger now. Every bit the little brother; the one who knows exactly how to tug at Dean’s heartstrings with just a look, a thoughtless touch. “Something else that would make you happy. Not- not Carmen, or Mom. Not a family.”  
  
Dean wants to protest, but his throat closes up.  _Of course I want those things_ , he wants to say.  _Of course I want to be happy, but-_  
  
It’s still not real. None of this is real, but it doesn’t make what comes next any better.  
  
Sam’s too fucking gentle when his fingers curl around Dean’s wrist, steadies the hand that still holds the silver knife. Dean can’t do anything but stare at him, eyes wide, petrified by what’s about to happen.  
  
“Maybe there’s a different wish I can grant for you,” Sam says, and his voice is soft now, soft in a way that Dean’s never heard his brother speak and he’s rooted to the spot, feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. “Something that you can’t have out there, no matter how bad you want it.”  
  
“I don’t- I don’t want anything else.” Dean’s shaking for a completely different reason now, because he sees the look on Sam’s face and it’s terrifying that even just this imaginary version of his brother  _knows_. Knows exactly the sorts of horrible, twisted thoughts that have passed through Dean’s mind; that linger there, even now. Even when he should’ve long since grown out of them. “I want to go back to the real world. I don’t want to die in here.”  
  
“It won’t feel like dying.” Sam steps closer, and he smiles again, soft. “You don’t have to think about any of that. It can just be this, just be  _us_. You can be happy. We can be… whatever you want.”  
  
Dean doesn’t have time to respond, because  _closer_  suddenly becomes  _too close_  and then Sam’s lips press against his, soft and dry and chaste. It’s everything that Dean isn’t supposed to want, everything he’s spent so many years fighting against, hating himself for ever looking at his little brother and wanting something  _more_ -  
  
But they’re kissing. They’re kissing, and a sob works its way up out of Dean’s chest because he  _likes_  it, he likes the way that Sam’s lips feel against his, and he leans into it, desperate and pathetic and hoping that this leads somewhere. Hoping for that one moment to forget that this is a djinn-induced dream, that none of it is real. That if Sam- the real Sam- ever knew about the way Dean looks at him-  
  
God. He doesn’t think he can survive losing his brother again. Not like that.  
  
But it  _is_  a dream, and this  _isn’t_  his Sam, so for those few seconds of eternity, Dean can let himself forget. It’s too easy to let his eyes slip shut, to lean into the tender hand that Sam rests on his cheek. His grip on the knife loosens, and it slips from between his fingers, clattering to the ground. And there’s a traitorous voice piping up in the back of his head, whispering that  _maybe you could stay here. Maybe you could be happy. Be with Sam. Be safe._  
  
Dean can’t help the way he listens. The way he  _aches_  to be able to give into that desire, that  _need_  that’s working so damn hard to keep him in this place. This fantasy that’s been cooked up all special so a monster can drink his blood without running into any resistance. It feels real enough to lose himself in, and Dean can already feel that process starting again, the same way it had when his living, breathing mother first answered the door.  
  
For a brief moment as Sam pulls him closer, Dean wonders what he would even be leaving behind. Dad’s not around anymore to need him on hunts. The rest of the world certainly won’t notice the disappearance of some nameless drifter. Hell, even Sam…  
  
 _Would Sam miss him?_  
  
The kiss ends just as suddenly as it started, and Dean’s left floundering, nearly loses his balance trying to back away before Sam’s hand shoots out to steady him. Dean feels like he can’t breathe, eyes on the floor instead of the imaginary version of his brother who stands before him, and one of the industrial lights overhead glints against the intricately-carved handle of the knife.  
  
He can’t abandon Sam. He can’t do this stupid, selfish thing that would leave his little brother out in the world by himself, the sole survivor of the Winchester clan. Not now, when all they have left is each other.  
  
Not even if it means never getting to feel this again, this fluttering in his chest. The faint tingling sensation left by Sam’s lips against his.  
  
“Dean,” Sam says, and he looks worried, when Dean glances up at him. Uncertain. He’s still holding Dean’s arm, keeping him close. “Are- are we okay?”  
  
There’s no other way for this to end.  
  
Dean tugs himself loose and ducks down, grabbing the knife off the floor before stumbling backwards to put some space between them. Sam’s eyes are wide, now, scared, and it’s so  _Sam_  that Dean nearly stops what he’s doing right there. Wants to apologize for scaring this illusion.  
  
He chokes it down and readies the knife again.  
  
Sam’s talking now, the words coming slowly to Dean’s ears, faint past the rush of blood. “We- we don’t have to, Dean, not if you don’t… you can still be happy.  _We_  can be happy. Please, just- just put down the knife.”  
  
Dean gives him one last, long look, allowing himself that tiny moment to imagine what he could have here. The way he could spend out the rest of his days in happiness and peace, surrounded by family and with his brother by his side, loving him the same way that Dean has always loved Sam. Too much, maybe, but it wouldn’t matter here. It would be  _his_ , and nobody would ever be able to take it away from him.  
  
He takes a shaky breath, and he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and before Sam can open his mouth again, Dean shoves the knife into his own chest, feels the beginning of pain before it fades to nothing.  
  
The world plunges into darkness, and Dean drifts.  
  


* * *

  
Sam gives him a tight hug as soon as the djinn is dead. Dean’s still unsteady with blood loss, and he allows himself to lean into it, to accept his brother’s help in limping back to the car. Sam frets over him, obviously shaken by the whole thing, and Dean stays quiet through it all, wondering if the real world has always been this cold.  
  
“What was it like in there?” Of course Sam’s curious; it’s in his nature, and Dean’s been too tight-lipped about the whole thing. They’re in the motel room, and Dean’s all patched up, and he can’t bring himself to look his brother in the eye. “I mean… Mom was really alive?”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat and debates whether or not he should claim that he’s too tired to stay awake any longer. It’s not really late enough to justify going to bed, but he thinks Sam would let it slide after what’s happened. “Her and Jess. It was, uh… it was something.”  
  
“But you dug yourself out.” Sam’s voice softens, and Dean keeps his eyes down, focused on where he’s got his hands clasped in his lap. “Most people wouldn’t have had the strength to do that, Dean.”  
  
Dean can’t help the snort he lets out. “Yeah. Lucky me.”  
  
None of it was real. Every single bit of what he remembers happened in his head, no better than any other dream he’s ever had. No matter how many times Dean tells himself that, he can’t shake the feeling that he should’ve just stayed. Hell, maybe it would’ve been better for everyone. He would’ve gotten to live out his days in fantasy-land, and Sam…  
  
Well. Sam wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.  
  
“You should’ve seen it, man. You were gettin’ married.”  
  
Sam breathes out softly, and Dean dares to look his way. Sam’s got his eyes down, too, just for a moment before he speaks. “It wasn’t real,” he says. “All that stuff… no matter how good it was, it was just a dream. Just a fantasy.”  
  
Hell, if Dean doesn’t know that better than anybody. His mouth moves before his brain can catch up. “I wanted to stay, Sam.” Ducks his head before he continues. “I wanted to stay so bad.”  
  
He nearly jumps out of his skin when Sam touches him, just a hand on his knee, but it’s still too much right now. He’s too raw, too hyper-aware of this reality. Sam’s voice is quiet. “I’m glad you came back,” he says, and he looks down again, his hand lingering for another heartbeat before he pulls away. “You, um… you should probably get some rest.”  
  
They don’t talk anymore after that, and Dean has to fight to swallow down the lump in his throat. There are already whispers in the back of his head, telling him over and over again that  _you made a mistake_  and  _you shouldn’t have woken up_. The kiss plays on repeat at the backs of his eyelids, the phantom sensation of Sam’s lips pressed against his, and Dean…  
  
Dean looks over at his little brother in the other bed, curled up for the night and breathing softly. Dean thinks about what he left behind in that dream world, what he could’ve had with that imaginary version of Sam who was ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted, and Dean…  
  
Dean closes his eyes and gets ready to go to sleep.  
  
Maybe the fantasy would’ve been perfect, but it would’ve been nothing more than a fantasy. Right here, right now- however painful this reality might be, Sam still needs him here. Against all odds, Sam still  _wants_  him here, and that’s enough to convince Dean to keep going for another day.  
  
It’s not like he’s ever needed anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started writing for a different set of prompts, but that piece was getting too long and I didn't want to cut it short just for the sake of the challenge, so... I might get around to finishing and posting that thing later. For anybody interested, it's Sam/Dean/Jess during Stanford, so.


End file.
